


Frostbite

by KizzaKiriki



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cannibalism, Dead animals, Gore, Murder, Mutation, Mutilation, Other, Paranoia, Post-Betrayal, Wendigo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7355638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KizzaKiriki/pseuds/KizzaKiriki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The winter chill seems to have driven most mystical creatures away from Stanford Pines' home, but a new and mysterious species seems to have popped up to cause the already disturbed man even more trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hermit

Summer and fall seemed to disappear in the blink on an eye- though that was not much of a surprise to him.  What should he have expected from spending so much time overshadowed by a mus--… By a demon.  Stanford sighed, curling further into himself as he sat in his study.

The walls were still covered in black and gold paintings of the being he had been so devoted to.  Years were spent doing Bill’s bidding, and for what?  A useless machine, a missing friend, and countless sins and wrongdoings that he would never be able to take back.  Where was he supposed to go from this point?  What was he supposed to do after spending so long on a goal that would never see the light of day? 

The man dropped his pen on the desk, rubbing his eyes in contemplation.  He should really start taking that portal apart before something bad happened…  It had barely been a month since he purged Bill from his mind, and the demon was already proving that he was determined to get to that machine.  Three different people under his control had already shown up at his front door to try and get in!  He didn’t want to think about what deals those poor fools had made with that demon…

It was more than the few overshadowed towns people that him on edge, though.  Bill had visited him in his dreams every night to remind him of his foolish choices- visions of blood and destruction ever present in the nightmares he brought.  It was to the point where Stanford dreaded heading for bed at night… So he stopped.  The rings under Ford’s eyes could rival a raccoon, and no doubt his work would begin to suffer from it, but at least Bill couldn’t reach him!  He had no domain outside of the dreamscape, and living in a coffee and testosterone driven haze was better than dealing with a dream demon every night.  He was not getting much rest when dealing with Bill anyway.

He leaned back in his chair and stretched.  The journal page in front of him sat blank- not even a drop of invisible ink on the parchment.  He hadn’t really noticed any noteworthy paranormal activity lately.  As a matter of fact, he had not seen anything since late October.  Usually he would at least catch sight of the occasional gnome sniffing around his garbage or hear the laugh of a faerie… but he couldn’t recall anything!  That in itself was worth noting, but not really worth putting into one of his journals…

Stanford reached into a nearby drawer and retrieved a small leather bound notebook.  He liked to keep small notes inside of this one- just things that weren’t important enough to make the final entry for his journals. 

‘Entry date 11/14,

The winter chill seems to have calmed the usual unending flow of paranatural activity here in Gravity Falls.  While I do not believe that it is anything to particularly worry about, I have not seen any supernormal beings for the past three weeks at the least.  I will continue to note any important details as the winter grows colder.’

He read over his writing once before nodding and closing the small book, tucking it safely back inside its drawer.  The polydactyl then looked at his wrist watch and grimaced.  It was nearing the 12 o’clock hour, but he still did not want to risk more of Bill’s night terrors.  He stood from his desk and made his way to the kitchen; a nice mug of coffee would have to keep the sleep away. 

_‘Stanford’_

“Yes?” The man answered absently as he poured dark liquid into a nearby mug. 

_‘Stanford.’_

“What do you want Bi-” The man began to take a sip of his drink, only to spit it out from a mixture of its burnt flavor and the realization of the words leaving his mouth.  There was no way that could have been Bill… right?  He had cast the demon out!  The only way he would be able to hear him now is if he were sleeping…  Ford poured the burnt coffee out and started a new pot brewing, picking up a fork from the dishwasher.

Stanford jabbed the metal utensil into his hand, taking in a sharp breath and wincing as the tines pierced his skin.  Definitely not sleeping…  No, no.  It was obviously just his mind playing tricks on him.  This sort of issue should be expected after dealing with a mind demon like Bill.  But, he must really be sleep deprived if he was hearing things and talking to himself…

The man yawned and leaned against the counter.

“Maybe I should just try and sleep…” He mused under his breath.  The thought of his bed _did_ sound rather appealing.

No, he had to stay focused.  Ford quickly filled his mug with what liquid was available in the pot and retreated back to his study.  There had to be something to write about- to keep his mind off of things!  He haphazardly plopped down in his chair and cracked his knuckles. Anything… just- just write about anything…  Maybe he could write about his experience in the kitchen! …No, that was far from noteworthy.  Ford scratched his neck with the back of his pen.  While the consequences of staying awake for well over four days straight may interest some, hearing things was hardly in his range of interests-

A sudden shiver, as if someone had just dropped a handful of snow down his shirt, drew the man from his internal debate.

“Wha-?!” He yelped, pushing away from his desk.  What the hell?  There was no way he imagined that… right?!  The sensation was soon gone, but the goosebumps trailing over his bare arms still lingered.

_‘Stanford…’_

His name was more tangible in the cool air around him- like someone was whispering to him from just outside his range of sight,

“What?!” He yelled into the empty room, but no answer was returned. 

Was…  Was he going mad?  Stanford rolled his long sleeves down to his wrists and walked back to his desk.  No, that wasn’t it…  He quickly retrieved his pen from its fallen place on the floor, taking the notebook from the drawer once more

‘Entry date 11/15,

I may need to revise my previous observation on paranormal activity as of late. 

While it is possible that it is due to a lack of sleep, or my continued separation from other people after the incident…  It feels as though I am being watched.’

 

Stanford continued logging any and all observations on whatever was calling to him over the next few days.  It seemed mostly dormant in the day and afternoon hours, and annoyingly active from early evening to twilight.  The only thing that he had actually managed to confirm was that it was not a hallucination due to exhaustion.  Forcing himself to sleep for the sake of investigation was far from his idea of pleasant, but it did prove useful in more ways than one. A good night’s sleep- even one riddled with nightmares- was better than wondering if he was insane.

He sighed as he leaned back in his chair.  There was a chance that the name calling was another one of Bill’s tricks…  but his felt different, though.  He was accustomed to the demon’s invasive words, and this felt nothing like it!  Stanford twirled his pen between his fingers.  The sun would be going down soon and the voice would start calling to him soon. 

What did it want from him?  Why was it calling to him specifically?  Questions flooded Ford’s mind as he retrieved his coat and headed for the front door.  He did not even know if this thing was tangible or some form of poltergeist!  How should he start investigating it?  Where should he even begin looking for it…  The man walked through his snow covered yard and toward the heavily forested surroundings.  Most things seemed to come from deep within the trees of Gravity Falls, so why not whatever was calling him?  Ford continued on his way for a good while, soon losing sight of his small home.

_‘Stanford?’_

He looked up to the canopy of trees above, and the small beams of light that streamed through.  The voice was right on time.  Ford shoved his hands into his pockets and hurried along the dirt path.  Leaves rustled in the light breeze, branches cracked around him, and the callings continued.  It was strange…  the voice seemed to get louder and louder the further into the woods he went!  Was he getting closer to whatever was calling him?  Continuing further into the forest this late in the evening was against his better judgment, especially with creatures he did not understand roaming about.  How could he turn back now, though?  This was the closest he had been to learning about these things since they started calling his name!

_‘Stanford!’_

  The wind was now howling his name with every gust.  His surroundings were quickly becoming terrifying, and the volume at which the voices called his name was getting to be unbearable.  Was it really a good idea to continue in these conditions?  …No.  While Stanford would be lying if he said there was no urge to run back to the safety of his shack… he had to stay.  There was no way he could let an opportunity like this slip away!

A primal scream rang through the forest, further startling the man.  It was guttural and horrifying and sounded like it was in pain!  Was- Was that made by the creature he was looking for?!  No chance!  He had to be looking for a nymph or a fae of SOME kind!  No fae would make a sound like that, so that must mean… Stanford ran in the direction of the scream.  Something was probably hurt or dying!  This wind was bad enough, maybe an old rotting tree fell over on top of a gnome or maybe a centaur was caught in a bear trap or-

Ford stopped dead in his tracks as he was met with what he assumed to have cried out.  O-oh god, what WAS it?  It looked like it may have been a stag at one point in its life, but now?  It had been mauled- so torn up that it was barely recognizable!  Stanford gulped down bile that threatened to erupt from the back of his throat.  What could have done this…  He knealt down into the blood-soaked snow, reaching a trembling hand out to the immobile creature.  Sure, he had seen dead animals in the past.  Hell- he had dissected and sacrificed many a creature in Bill’s name!  But this poor animal was different. 

Its chest moved up in down as it took each pained breath.  The dear made a pitiful cry as he gently patted its side.  Stanford had never been one for bedside manner, but no living being should have to suffer like this alone.  He gently examined its wounds as he whispered light assurances to the beast. 

Gash marks on its legs, jagged bite marks all over its neck and face, and an underbelly that had been brutally torn open so that its steaming innards spilled out onto the dirt and snow… or at least what was left of them.  Something had tried to eat the poor dear, and it seemed to want it alive and kicking as it did so.  How awful. 

The man stayed crouched there as the animal took its final breaths, doing his best to make its last moments as soothing and painless as he could,

“Why would a creature do something like this?” he sighed and stood from the ground.  The knees of his pants were soaked with melted snow and blood at this point, but he had no more time to waste.  The poor deer was an unfortunate detour!  It was time to get back to following the voic-

Silence.

All was still in the forest around him.  The wind no longer howled, no night birds hooted or cawed at him, and no voice called his name.  It was just… 

Pure silence.

The ambiance of the woods should have been peaceful save for the dead mamal mere feet from his feet, but something was wrong.  Stanford’s heart raced.  His breaths became shallow.  A strange weighted pain filled his chest.  He shouldn’t be here- oh god this was bad he should _NEVER_ have been here!  He needed to leave- to get away from this place! 

He did his best to steady his emotions and the sudden overwhelming sensations that hit him, but it was to no avail.  This experience was not natural- something was forcing him to feel this way and he hated it.  The analytical portion of his mind told him to stay, but everything from his panicked breaths to his shaking legs told him to run. 

Stanford turned and ran as fast as he could toward his house.  He had to get home- he had to get to the safety of his study before it got him! ‘What wants to get me?  What could possibly have the intention to kill me?’ Reasoning with himself was not working.  He just had to keep running.

The icy air stung as it hit his face.  He knew he would regret choosing to run, but at the moment he did not care.  His little cabin soon appeared in his line of sight and he could practically feel the warmth of the fireplace warming his numb flesh.  He would have other chances to investigate this creature, right?  There was no need to risk his lif-

‘ _Stanford?’_

The voice was calling to him again.  Did it know that he had run away?  Of course it did.  He was probably right next to it before!  That would explain why the callings had stopped!  Ford seemed to barely touch the ground as he quickly loped across his yard, slamming his door and locking it upon entering. 

“Wait-“ he panted, “If- if it was near me then…”

‘Then it was probably what killed that stag.’ he held a hand to his chest as he tried to regain any air in his lungs.  No.. that couldn’t be!  Nothing that tried calling to him so specifically and intelligently could be capable of such horrors.  No, wait.  Yes, it could.  Images and memories of Bill’s kindnesses and compliments suddenly flooded his mind.  Right. 

There was no reason for him to assume the creature calling to him was benevolent- quite the opposite actually.  Stanford swiftly made his way to the study and plopped down at his desk.  He shouldn’t go chasing after things that called to him like that.  He wasn’t anything special, nothing had any reason to seek him out specifically.

‘Entry date 11/20,

I do not believe that the creature calling to me has good intentions.  More investigation is required.’

 

The morning sun brought with it silence and a calming warmth that allowed Stanford to finally relax.  Every minute of sleep he had that night- what little of it he got- was riddled with nightmares from the forest.  Strong winds, whispered screams calling his name, the dead stag and the horrid scent of blood that came with it…  He stood from the lumpy couch and made his way through the study, crumpled papers that once sat idly on the floor being jostled unceremoniously as he was lost in thought.   He had so many theories- so many questions about what the creature could be! 

At first Ford thought that it might be some sort of ghoul, but its apparent level of intelligence and constant callings did not match up with anything he had ever seen.  Vampires were sometimes known to call to their victims, but the brutal way that the deer was killed in did not fit their usual style.  Maybe it was some more feral variant like a nosferatu?  Stanford sighed and pushed his mussed hair out of his face.  There were far too many possibilities to choose from…  How could he figure out anything without even having seen the creature? 

The man opened the front door a crack, glancing out to find nothing waiting for him.  Of course he wouldn’t find anything- it’s not like the creature waited outside the door for him to leave!  He chuckled at his own foolish thoughts.  He was safe… he just needed to keep his head about him.  Before he could even decide if he was really in any danger, he would need to see this thing up close. 

Ford paced back and forth on his front porch.  In all honesty… his reaction during the prior night was highly irrational.  He let his fears and the atmosphere get to him and in the way of his investigation.  There was a chance to finally see the creature and he let it slip through his fingers!  No, he couldn’t let something like that happen again.  With that in mind, however, he had no intention of seeking the thing out in the forest.  Maybe he could try asking the locals? …No, that never turned out well. 

Stanford let out a sigh.  He would have to seek out the creature somehow- there was no way around it.  All speculations would be of no use without solid evidence as to what was calling to him!  Right.  He would wait until nightfall and for the callings to start once more and then-…  What would he do?  Certainly not follow it and risk getting mauled to death.  Waiting was a stupid plan.  Maybe his notes held something he did not realize about the creature?  Anything that could bring him closer to the truth was better than stewing in his own frustration.  As he walked back toward the entry to his house, however, something strange caught his eye. 

He knelt down on the creaking floorboards, running his fingers down a set of large gashes that sprawled across the doorframe, “Hmm,”

“Claw marks?” Strange… these were unlike any creature he had seen from the woods.  As a matter of fact…  Stanford moved his hand along the marks, perfectly fitting each of his fingers into the deep grooves.  These were not normal- even in the stretched sense of ‘normal’ that followed him through Gravity falls. 

The scientist quickly stood and entered his house before locking the door and hurrying to his study.  He could easily assume two things from those claw marks: The creature was at least slightly humanoid in build… and it tried to get into his home as he slept. 

That was it.  He couldn’t stand to wait any longer.  He needed to observe this thing on his own terms, and he needed to do it soon.

‘Entry date 11/21,

I have decided to trap the creature, though I have run in to a few problems.  It is nearly impossible for me to lay any single trap for the thing without knowing its size. So, in an attempt to cover all possible bases, I have set many traps and snares around the house.  Hopefully this will lead to useful information of some sort.’

‘Entry date 11/23,

Things… have not exactly gone as I had originally hoped.  The creature looks to be smarter than I thought it would be and has destroyed every single trap I set out for it.  On the bright side, though, it seems to have injured itself when disabling my bear traps!  It left behind a surprisingly little amount of tissue, but hopefully it will be enough to determine what species it is.’

‘Entry date 11/26,

I _saw_ it!  I actually saw the creature!  Well, part of it at least.  I was beginning to worry that my paranoia was getting to me again and it was not coming to my house, but I actually caught it lurking around the yard last night around three in the morning.  Unfortunately, the sky was completely shrouded in clouds and the light coming from my window was not enough to illuminate it. 

It looks to move around on all fours and to have disturbingly long claws.  I could not make out much more of it in the dark… but I think it may have seen me watching it.  The creature did not make any moves to approach the house or attack the window, but I’m sure it was staring back at me.  I’m not sure if I should be thrilled or terrified of it.’

‘Entry date 11/27,

I’ve been working hard to better understand the creature ever since seeing it last night.  It seems to have a small capacity for higher thought, judging by how it has effortlessly disabled or destroyed my traps.  There is even the possibility that it could hold intelligent conversation!  If it can call to me by name, why wouldn’t it be able to speak normally?  I plan on setting up a few cameras around the yard and porch to see if I can finally catch a glimpse of its full body.  I will check the Gravity Falls archives for any information I can after that.  If we can communicate, I want to know as much as I can about it.’

‘Entry date 11/29,

There is more than one of them, and they are utterly terrifying.’

 

Stanford looked out from the kitchen window. The evening winter clouds draped over the sky as the sun began to set, and the voices would no doubt start soon enough.  The man was conflicted about what to do and where to go from this point.  The Gravity Falls archives did not give him much more than a few folk tales and legends that remotely fit with what he was dealing with, and the only things his traps and cameras landed him were disturbing images and faulty tissue samples.  At least… he assumed they were faulty.  How could those terrifying, lanky, things come out to have human DNA?

_‘Stanford’_

Right on time.  He took a sip of coffee as he walked back to his study.  It was probably bad that he had gotten accustomed to the voices calling to him every night, but what was he supposed to do?  It was annoying, yes, but easily enough ignored when he focused.  It was rather docile when compared to some of Bill’s past tormentings….

‘ _Stanford’_

The man sat at his desk and began going over his notes.  He narrowed down the possibilities of what the creatures could be to a select few monsters from local folk lore- though none were particularly friendly beings.  He just needed a bit more information before he could be sure.

‘ _Stanford?_

A groan escaped the scientist’s gritted teeth.  Their nightly callings had gotten progressively more aggressive as he conducted his investigation.  Perhaps it was because they knew that he was aware of them?  Ford jotted down the thought… before almost immediately crossing it out.  No, that wouldn’t make much sense.  Why would they call out to him if they did not want him to seek them out?  Maybe it was the opposite.

They only started getting close to his home and sounding malicious in their beckoning after he followed them into the forest.  Maybe… he had not investigated enough?  Ford groaned, running his fingers through his hair.  These theories didn’t make any sense.    

‘ _Stanford_!’

This was getting annoying.  While if the creatures were desperate to get his attention or were actively trying to irritate him was an important question, Ford really did not want to deal with the same thing each night.  At first the voices were bearable, but now?  Now they screamed at him practically every three minutes!  It would be more bearable if it only happened at night… but the voices seemed to be starting earlier and earlier in the day now.  The man could barely get any work done like this.

He sighed as he rested his head in his arms.  The voices couldn’t reach him in his sleep…  a little nap would not hurt, right?  Bill’s nightmares were endurable enough- and anything was better than the frustration that the constant callings gave him!  Ford closed his eyes, allowing the warm darkness of the dreamscape to wrap around him.

 

‘…ord’

What?  Who was- No, wait.  Why could he hear his name?

‘…Anford!’

He had only been asleep for a few minutes at most!  Why… why was he already waking up?  Ford grumbled, burying his face further into his arms.  It didn’t matter.  He just needed to ignore it an-

“STANFORD!”

The man bolted up from his chair.  That… that one sounded different.  It was more tangible than the mental whispers that usually came from the beasts… the tone was familiar too…  Yes- there was no way on Earth that he could ever forget that voice-

“Stanley?!” He rushed to the nearest window and gazed out into the pitch night.  No- it couldn’t be, right?  There was no way that-

“STANFORD!!” His brother’s voice sounded very distant and even more distressed. 

Ford rushed out of the study and his house all together.  He should think rationally!  There was no possible way that his brother could be out in these woods.  Was it the shapeshifter? …No, it had never seen Stan!  It couldn’t match his brother’s voice. 

What if his brother had sought him out to apologize for his actions all those years ago?  What if he was in danger?  What if he had run into one of the creatures that mutilated the stag? Stanford’s blood ran cold as he ran into the woods, his imagination creating terrible images of his poor, lifeless twin bleeding out in the snow.  No- he couldn’t bare it! 

“STANFORD!!” He sounded as if he were in terrible pain.

The man bit his lip as he followed his poor brother’s calls, “STANLEY!  Don’t worry- I’m coming!!”  He screamed into the trees as freezing winter air filled his lungs.  He would find his brother and bring him home.  They would laugh about this after Ford was finished scolding him about seeking him out with no word!  There was no way he would let his brother die out in the woods like some animal!

“Stanford?!?” Finally- Stanley was close!  It sounded like he was just beyond the next wall of trees!

“I’m here- You’re going to be just fine!  Don’t worry Stanley I’m here to help I’m—“ The thick cloud cover began to part as Stanford bounded into the clearing.  There was no sign of blood, distress, death… or his brother.  What instead waited for him… was terrifying.  Pale white skin, distorted and horridly thin bodies, large claw-like hands with what he could only assume was dried blood on them, and glazed over, dead looking eyes which all stared in his direction. 

No… No! This wasn’t…  “Where… WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY BROTHER?!”  Ford screamed at the creatures, but got no response. 

The monstrosities stalked around him.  This was not good.  He knew he was the pray in this situation, but he didn’t have time to worry about himself!  He had to find his twin- he had to make sure he was alright!  He had to be sure that these… These THINGS hadn’t killed him!

Stanford stood his ground, not moving an inch as the creatures stirred around him.  There was no mistaking that these were the same things stalking around outside of his home.  Had they mistaken Stanley for him when he was outside the house?  What an idiot- How could he so easily let himself be taken by these things when he was so close to help?! 

“Where. Is. My. Brother,” Ford’s words seeped from his tongue like dark venom that he wanted to infect the creatures that may have murdered his twin.

All was quiet for a moment- though it felt like an eternity.  He was about to speak up once more- or at least lunge for one of the creatures- when he finally got a response,

‘ _Stanford_?’

The man’s eyes widened.  This was wrong.  The voices came from all around him

‘ _Stanford_?’

The same voices began calling to him, but this time at an extremely heightened volume.  It sounded as if each of the dozen someodd monsters around him were whispering directly into his ear! But… that was not the worst part by far.  As each creature called his name, it became more and more obvious that they sounded like people from his past. 

His brother was not there, and he never had been. 


	2. The Fool

The man’s breath came out in large puffs of fog as he ran, drops of blood trailing behind him with every step.  Strange and distorted howls followed close behind, though he dare not look back.  They were getting closer.  The scent of his blood was probably drawing them right to him!  Damn…  How was he supposed to get away if they would just flock to him like starving animals? 

No- It was fine- _he_ would be fine!  He just had to move faster!  Ignore the pain.  Ignore the cold.  Ignore the sounds.  Only focus on the path to safety!...  That was so much easier said than done, though.  Ford stumbled slightly as he ducked around a few low branches.  How far into the woods had he actually ran?!  He was terribly worried about his good-for-nothing brother, but did he really make it so far in that he couldn’t discern his surroundings?  Oh how he hoped had not gotten himself lost or turned around in the fight with those monsters.

Who was he kidding- he was definitely _not_ fine.  Any dangers that he had been in before were nowhere near as bad as his current situation.  There was a very real possibility that he would die!  These monsters… they moved with such an ease through the trees, and seemed to have no issues with cutting down anything in their way.  It was a complete stroke of luck that he even escaped in the first place!  He did not want to think about what would have happened if they hadn’t all lunged for him at the same time and started fighting each other…

Stanford blinked snowflakes from his eyes as best he could in the storm.  Those things couldn’t have possibly picked a better night to lure him out… It was practically impossible to see in this weather!  He squinted into the strong wind that hit his face, latching on to a dim light in the distance.  Wait-a light?!

A new warmth started to spread throughout his chest at the sight.  That was his home- it had to be!  He was saved!  His journals, his lab, his research- he would lock himself away until those _things_ left in the morning and he would finally be safe!  All he had to do was cross the yard and he-

The man let out a strained yelp as something suddenly coiled around his ankle.  Stanford fell to the ground, taking a sharp intake of breath as a mixture of gravel and mud coated his torn and injured arm.  Oh no- had they caught up to him already?!  The scientist frantically grasped at his leg in an attempt to see what was binding him under the dark night sky.  No, there was no pain and nothing was pulling against him.  He needed to calm himself and not react like a trapped animal! …Though ’trapped animal’ may not exactly be incorrect.

His fingers traced over what held him down, confirming his fears.  From the looks of it, he ran directly into one of his snares.  He could have sworn that he disabled the remaining rope traps on the edge of the woods…   Ford growled, clenching his jaw as he tried to untie the knot.  The man’s teeth dug into the side of his cheek in anger and frustration.  It was no use- his fingers were too numb to work the rope!  And those beasts could not be far behind now-- Was there even time to try and cut through it with his teeth?!  Come on, think!!  He couldn’t die here- not when safety was just a few yards away! 

Stanford’s face contorted into a large frown as he stopped his efforts with the knot.  He needed a better solution.  His brain had always gotten him out of trouble in the end, and this was absolutely no different!  He bit his lip in thought; the beasts’ shrieks were nearly upon him now, but what could he do?    There was nothing around him to cut the rope with, and he forgot to grab any weapons before bolting after his ‘brother’…  The only option was to hide.  Yes- that just might work!  The bushes around the rim of the woods were thick, thorny, and perfect for hiding in.  Hell, their thickness might even mask the scent of his blood!  He just had to find a way to crawl under the shelter of leaves and vines without alerting the creatures to his position. 

The man could hear rustling leaves a few yards away; if he was going to hide, he needed to do it NOW.  Ford inched closer to the bush to his left.  The rope around his ankle pulled tightly against him… but he had to ignore the small discomfort and growing numbness!  He needed to focus on the bright side of all this whole experience.  There was so much to be learned about these things- terrifying as they were.  He would be fine- he would live and write about his new findings in his journal and—

Stanford’s face drained of all color.  The greenery before him shifted, branches cracking and leaves falling to the ground, as they were pushed aside by a large claw-like hand.  He was out of time.  The man’s face contorted into a mixture of panic and fear.  What was he supposed to do!? 

Its dead eyes were boring into his flesh with enough foul intent to force a shiver down his spine.  There had to be a way out of this- a way to get away from this thing!  Ford’s eyes traced down to his shaking hand as his nails dug into the dirt.  Was he… trembling?  Yes, of course he was.  He was staring death in the face- what person wouldn’t tremble at the sight?  The man gulped.  He had to stay strong!  He wasn’t scared- these things could probably smell fear.  It was just a surge of adrenalin causing him to shake!  Not fear… he was not scared…  Stanford’s breaths were nearly nonexistent.  He couldn’t risk drawing the creature’s attention.

 

A long silence filled the air, only being broken by the sound of rustling shrubbery and ghastly howls in the distance.  Why was it not attacking him?  He was directly in its line of sight… so why was it just resting in the bushes?  It moved slightly forward, sniffing the air and snarling at the empty space around them.  Was… was it trying to frighten him?  Did it actively want him to be terrified?  Stanford wouldn’t doubt it after seeing it call to him as it did… but…  That did not seem quite right.  These things didn’t seem like the type to toy with their prey when it was so close.

Ford kept an unblinking eye on the beast as the minutes passed, and one thing stuck out like a sore thumb: the creature almost never looked directly at him.  Perhaps it was blind?  Maybe it had a sort of extreme spatial awareness!  If that were the case, though, why would it not be focused on him already?  The creature moved closer to him, scooping a large clump of muddy snow and taking a deep breath of its earthy scent. 

Stanford’s brow furrowed.    It flung the dirt to the ground and scraped at the freshly fallen snow.  What was it searching for?  Surely it didn’t think he was hiding under the snow…  But it was tracking his scent-  Oh no.  Ford frantically looked from the ground to the large gash in his sleeve.  It was looking for his _blood_. 

The creature snapped its head toward him.  It could smell him.  He was at most two feet away from this thing, and it could smell him bleeding.  Trying to run would be pointless, and there was definitely no way he could win against this thing with his fists.  The creature stalked closer, occasionally glancing around the air between them.  Throwing gravel into its face would only alert it to his position faster…  Ford’s heart sank as it drew closer. There was nothing he could do.

He was going to die.

He was going to die, alone in the woods, with the safety of his home within sprinting distance. 

Stanford clamped his eyes shut.  He didn’t want to see it coming.  If he was going to be torn apart, he wanted it to be quick.  Maybe it would take mercy on him and kill him quickly? …No, probably not…  The man shivered lightly as he imagined the beast’s breath on his face.  He could feel wetness starting to well in the corner of his eyes. 

He waited for the first blow to come.  He waited for teeth to sink into his flesh or for claws to puncture his sternum or for his head to be ripped off… but no such pain came.  Ford slowly opened his eyes and looked to where the creature had been moments ago, but found nothing but rustling brush and empty space.  Stanford’s heart pounded in his chest.  Why was it not attacking? _Why was it not attacking?!_ He could hear it steadily moving away from him, howling into the distance for the other monsters. 

Ford sat, frozen on the damp ground, staring into the distance.  …What?  Why would it leave—It tracked him all the way here by his blood, so why would it just spare him?  The man looked to the pile or dirt that was left by the beast.  The red hue confirmed that his blood was mixed in with that soil…  His eyes followed the trail left behind by his seeping arm when he got trapped- 

Oh.  OH.  Stanford slowly moved a hand to his wounded arm, running fingers over the dirty cut.  Not only was his torn sleeve coated in mud, but the coarse mixture of gravel and dirt also filled the entirety of his deep cut.  Unsanitary… but effective…

 

‘Entry date 11/30,

These ‘wendigos’, as local lore calls them, are incredibly strong and feral.  My arm is missing a rather sizable chunk of muscle from where one of the ~~damn~~ things bit me (and I think it is infected) but last night’s… endeavors were not wasted.  They have weaknesses.’

 

 

Stanford spent the next few days fortifying the house as best he could.  He still knew so little about the creatures!  And everything from the archives was so varied…  Some tales called them a sort of spirit that overshadowed a host body, another called them a demon that took pleasure in driving those trapped in the cold winter mad, and others even called them faeries who punished humans that had turned their back on their own kind! The man wasn’t sure what he should believe.  There was also, unfortunately, very little information on how to ward off these wendigos in the writings.  Ford sighed as he finished drawing a complex looking rune.  Whatever these things are, he was determined to keep them out. 

“That should do it,” The man stood back, looking over his handiwork.  Every door and window on the first floor of his home- every entry that one of those things could try and force their way through- was sealed with a protective sigil and a sachet of enchanted herbs.  To be honest… he was not really sure if the sachets would even help.  Hell- the recipe was gotten from a young witch that he met while searching for perceptshrooms!  Not to mention that the whole “herbal witchery” thing was a bit ridiculous to him.  Even so…  A little extra protection could never hurt.

Ford stepped out the front door and looked around for last night’s damage.  The man sighed, folding his arms over his chest.  Sure enough- the door and porch were covered in even more gashes and scrapes.  It seemed like the wendigos had been getting even more aggressive about trying to get to him in the past few days…  Maybe it was out of frustration after having been so close to killing him in the forest?  Or maybe it was due to having gotten a taste of his flesh- he shook his head, trying to rid the thought from his mind.  Thoughts like that would give him worse nightmares than he was already dealing with…  There were plenty of reasons that they would be so desperate to get to him!  Though, most of them had to do with seeing him as a sort of captive prey.    A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of being trapped; just like with the rope, except with his home being the binds that prevented his escape.   Hopefully things would not get that bad, though.  The morning sun warmed Stanford’s cheeks in contrast to the cold winter air.  He was safe for now and, as long as his precautions held up, so was his home. 

A rumbling sound emanating from the man’s core alerted him to a different issue that needed to be taken care of.  It had been quite some time since he last went shopping for food, and he was soon to be in need of more instant coffee.  A quick jog down to the Dusk till Dawn wouldn’t get too far in the way of his research- it fact, the time it would take to walk there and back might be good for thought!  Besides, with only having a few moldy slices of bread and something that might have resembled a cup of milk available in the kitchen, shopping couldn’t be avoided. 

Stanford swiftly retrieved his coat from inside and locked the door behind him, looking over his yard and the treeline.  He had not stepped foot out of his home over the last few days- let alone venture out into his yard…  The man took a quick breath before trotting down each creaking step.  The trip to the store and back would take an hour and a half at most, which would leave plenty of daylight left before dusk set in. 

Gravel crunched under his feet as he hurried down the path to the highway.  Ford did not want to be in such close proximity to the forest for too long.  It was a little funny, really- a month ago he would have looked at all the trees around him and felt at peace!  But now?  Now he had a hard time picturing them as anything more than a hiding spot for the creatures hunting him.  He felt like he was constantly being watched- constantly being hunted. 

Well… maybe “funny” was not exactly the right word.  The man pointed his gaze down toward the ground.  “Sad” or “pitiful” felt closer to the right word.  Who would have guessed that a mere few near-death experiences would be enough to transform him into a paranoid wreck?  The timing of this all was terrible to boot!  As if the constant fear of Bill coming for him in the bodies of his neighbors wasn’t enough to have him on edge, now he had to deal with possibly-undead-nightmare creatures coming after him every night!  To think that he was excited to meet the things a few weeks ago…

The sound of pavement under his feet was a much welcomed relief; the more distance between the woods and him, the better.  Stanford yawned and rubbed the dark bags below his eyes, nudging his cracked glasses up further on his nose.  The past few nights had been sleepless to say the least.  Even if he had not been terrified of the idea of one of those things getting into his home, the constant howling from outside his windows was sure to keep anyone awake.  They were relentless in their pestering!  Constantly scratching at the sides of his house, tapping on his windows whenever he walked by… hell, he had a figurative staring contest with one of them for hours through his bedroom window. 

Those sleepless nights were not a total waste, though.  He was able to study them further and, even if it wasn’t much, learn more about the wendigo’s behaviors.  They seemed to follow a very steady schedule each night; they would start to gather in the brush at dusk, stalk about his yard -and attempt to scare the living daylights out of him-, and slink back in the forest before the break of dawn.  The possibility that the creatures were sensitive to natural light had already crossed his mind, and this only served to confirm his theory.  Although… any light coming from his windows or floodlights did not seem to bother them nearly as much.  It was most likely a mild discomfort to them as compared to the sun! 

This discovery brought up a whole new realization, though.  The wendigos only showed up now in the dead of winter.  Not to mention the fact that all of the other strange creatures of the forest seemed to disappear once they arrived…  The arrival of the wendigos was probably an annual occurrence that the other creatures had gotten used to.  He really should have asked more questions when buying his land…  A cold breeze nipped at Stanford’s cheeks and ears as he continued down the highway, causing him to snuggle down further into his coat. 

Was it the heat of sunlight that deterred them from exploring during the day?  If that was the case, then what was to say that other sources of warmth wouldn’t deter them?  He would have to try using fire or an electric heater when faced with them again!  The man chuckled gravely at the thought.  He needed to be realistic; the chances of survival if he came face-to-face with one of them again were… slim, to say the least. 

He looked up to the convenience store as it approached on the horizon.  As far as he knew, the things were practically impervious.  The only time he managed to hurt one was with a trap that was coated in strange crystals from the forest- and even then it barely scraped enough tissue for a proper test!  If that test could even be considered “proper”…

The smell of cooking hot dogs and various other convenience store foods assaulted Ford’s nostrils as he entered the building.  Those test results still bothered him.  Sure, the wendigos looked humanoid, and a few stories from the archives alluded to them having been human at one point in their lives, but that couldn’t possibly be true!  A curse couldn’t turn you into a mindless animal like that… right?  Stanford quickly made his way through the aisles, tossing whatever seemed necessary into his small shopping basket.  There were supposedly certain spells and curses that could transform humans into frogs or cause other inconsequential physical changes, but he had never read anything about such a drastic change!  And certainly not with such a permanent effect…

He supposed, though, that anything was possible when it came to magic.  And who was to say that becoming a wendigo was permanent?  Perhaps there was a way to reverse the horrific transformation.  He barely acknowledged the elderly man behind the counter as he purchased his items.  Two bags of black coffee, a loaf of bread, powdered milk, and a few other miscellaneous snacks were placed into paper bags and handed back to him.

What even caused people to _become_ wendigos?  Everything he read from the archives said something along the lines of “turning your back on humanity”, but what did that even mean?  Did it refer to murder or maybe selling ones soul?  If that were the case, then his time as Bill’s puppet might cause him trouble in the future …  Stanford sighed.  Those texts were so old and worn… honestly, he was not even sure if he was reading them correctly!  There was no way for him to confirm any theories he might have without a test subject, and he was nowhere near sadistic enough to test them on another living being- let alone on himself. 

Stanford’s options for studying the creatures were severely limited.  He shivered slightly as he stepped out of the warm convenience store, maneuvering the bags in his arms to look at his wristwatch.  It would take another half hour to get back to the house… It was fine- he would be cutting it close, but there would still be plenty of sunlight out by then. 

A sigh escaped the man’s mouth as he walked.  There probably was not much left to learn from what the archives had to offer.  The only things he had gotten were unreliable at best; he needed more concrete information.  Maybe he could somehow trap a wendigo to study it?  It would no doubt be dangerous to keep one of those things in his lab or in the house… but he _had_ to learn more about them.  He just needed to figure out a way to contain and capture it! 

While he wasn’t entirely sure how to even go about catching one, the main problem would no doubt be holding it long enough to study.  There was no telling the extent of what those claws could do… but if his broken traps had anything to say about their strength, he would need something much stronger than any metal he had on hand.  A gust of moaning wind blew through the trees around him, causing branches to sway and crack--  Ford stopped in his tracks and looked to the foliage on his right. 

No no no, stop that.  He did NOT feel something watching him from the trees.  Nothing was following him down the road.  It was all his paranoid imagination!  The afternoon sun was still relatively high in the sky- there was no way one of those things was stalking him.  They went dormant during the day… right?  Well, he did not actually have any evidence to support that assumption other than the fact that their calls stopped around dawn… but they had to sleep at some point!  Everything needs to rest!  It would just make sense that they were nocturnal.

…

Even with that in mind, though, Stanford found himself picking up his pace of movement.  He knew it was illogical and that giving in to his fears would only promote his paranoia and newfound fear of the creatures… but getting home faster couldn’t hurt!  He would have more time to research and make sure the house was secured before the wendigos began calling to him for the night.  It wasn’t only fear, it was strategy! … Or at least that’s what he repeated to himself.

The man needed to calm down; hyping himself up over nothing would only result in him tripping or dropping one of his bags.  Stanford took a deep breath and forced his feet to slow.  He was not going to give in to primal fear reactions.  He was a scientist, and scientists were usually fine!   Now what had he been thinking about before?  Oh, right.  Capturing a wendigo. 

All of his traps were easily destroyed or set off by the creatures, so using any material similar to them would most likely be… unwise.  Perhaps he could use some material from the UFO wreckage to build a sort of cage for the creature?  No, it would take a day and a half at the least to make the trip and back after gathering materials.  The risk of a wendigo following him was too great, and he had no interest in being trapped inside a metal prison with one of those things- let alone anything else that may want to kill him from inside the ship.

The familiar pathway leading to his home soon appeared over the horizon, bringing a small sigh of relief from the man’s lips.  Using the sturdier alien metal was definitely a step in the right direction.  He hated to think of it… but he could always cannibalize pieces from the portal for the cage.  He needed to dismantle it eventually anyway- putting it to good use would be a poetic justice.  Ford trudged up the now snow covered pathway to his cozy shack. 

His yard still held a heavy cover of snow, only disturbed by the footprints he left that morning and the ones that now trailed behind him.  It was so… calm.  A cold shiver running down Ford’s spine quickly snapped him back into focus.  He could revel in the serenity of his home once he was actually safely inside!  No time for distractions.  Stanford’s stomach let out another low rumble as he trotted to his front stoop. 

 

A chuckle escaped him as he ascended the stairs, “The portal will have to wait” The man mused as he attempted to retrieve the keys from his jacket pocket, “a good meal comes fir—“  Stanford tripped on the top step as his leg fell- or rather was pulled out from under him.

 

The bags in his arms were quickly foregone as he whipped around to see what was now pulling him back toward the wooden steps.  “WH-?!” The familiar claw-like hand wrapped around his ankle made his blood run cold, but what was attached to it nearly made his heart stop.  He could only really see its hand and terrifyingly thin arm, but- for just a moment- he could see what was hiding under the floor boards. 

“G-Get off!” The man yelled and kicked at the arm pulling him closer to the edge of the porch.  He needed to get it OFF!  There wasn’t any time to think- he could already feel those dead, bloodshot, eyes watching him with such hunger through the cracks in his porch- what was to stop it from breaking the wooden panels beneath him and pulling him into the darkness below?!

“LET. ME. GO!” Stanford brought the heel of his boot down as hard as he could on the creature’s hand, resulting in a sickening cracking sound and a sharp pain in his foot.  It hurt- oh _GOD_ it HURT.  What the hell did he just do?!  Good lord he could feel tears of pain welling in the corner of his eyes!  There was no time to cry, though!  The creature’s grip was still as tight as ever… but his captured ankle was limp enough now that maybe… 

Well- now or never!  The scientist steeled himself before stepping down on the creature’s wrist and yanking his leg as far away from the binding hand as he could.  The wendigo howled as his foot broke free from its grasp.  YES!  He scrambled to his feet, wincing at the shot of pain that ran up his left leg as he stood.  No time for pain…  The scientist could hear the creature moving below him as he fumbled with the locked door.  

Finally, the lock clicked open and he rushed into his home, slamming the door behind him.  He wasn’t safe.  Nowhere in his house was safe!  Who’s to say it wouldn’t burst through a window?  Those wards and sachets probably wouldn’t do anything for stopping these things.  Stanford limped to the elevator and hit the key pad.  He didn’t care what floor it took him to- as long as it was secure and away from those THINGS… 

The door soon opened up into the portal control room.  Yes, this was good.  There were tools and weapons in his laboratory that he could protect himself with.  It was virtually impossible for those things to get down to him here!  He was going to be okay.  The man hobbled through the room, grabbing the laser rifle that he scavenged from the UFO wreckage and a med-kit before slumping against the cold wall.  Stanford needed to take care of his leg first… and he would figure out what to do from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanfiction author appreciation day is tomorrow, so here's my gift to you all! I had so much fun writing this chapter tbh. Stanford suffering and slowly breaking down is my jaaaam.  
> Sorry for taking so long to get this out! On that topic, though, I will be starting my next semester of college on the 29th so it might take a bit for chapters to come out QwQ I'll do my best, though! 
> 
> As usual, if you see any typos or weird sentences let me know so I can fix them! 
> 
> Also, huge thanks to Moosesmittens for brainstorming with me and inspiring me to make Stanford Suffer!


	3. The Devil

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was the grey sky.  Ford sat up and looked at his surroundings, quickly finding that he had no idea where he was.  Almost everything around him was recognizable- the swing set, the portal, the old decrepit Stan O’ War… but these things didn’t belong together.  The man stood, running his hand through the tall stalks of wheat around him.  His hands felt… numb.

“Well well well well well!” A high pitched voice called from the ether around him, “Look what the cat dragged in!”  Oh, Stanford could recognize that voice anywhere.  He may not have heard it in the past few nightmares, but he could never forget who was watching him,

“Bill!” He yelled into the still air, “Show yourself!”

The dream demon breathed a deep sigh before materializing before him, wagging a pitch finger in his direction, “Now now now, is that any way to treat a friend who’s here to help?”

“I highly doubt that,” The man spat, “Aren’t you just here to torment me as usual?” 

Bill rubbed his large eyelid between his index finger and thumb, “Usually I’d say yes, but not this time sixer,” the demon placed a hand on his ‘hip’, “Look don’t get me wrong- I’d love to introduce ya to a few things I’ve been working on recently, but there are more important things to take care of first!”

“Like you nearly dying every two days to be specific,” Memories of Stanford’s past run-ins with the wendigos displayed around them with a wave of Bill’s hand.  “It’s pretty problematic!”

“…what?” Ford’s face painted a picture of confusion, “Why would you even care about that?!”

 “Not that it wouldn’t be _hilarious_ to see you mauled to death Fordsy,” A chuckle, “’cuz TRUST me, that’d be amazing to watch… but I still have a few plans that have yet to see the light of day,”

He scoffed, “Plans that require me to be alive and able to open the portal, I assume?”

“Somethin’ like that!”

Ford’s expression contorted into aggravated disgust within an instant.  That made sense enough for Bill.  All he wanted was to be able to use him again!  And to think, he almost hoped that Bill was… No, of course he wouldn’t be worried about him.  Stanford was nothing to the triangular demigod!  Nothing more than a meat pawn, anyway…  Still, though, it was strange for Bill to appear and talk to him like this.  The only thing he had experienced from the demon as of late were nightmares, threats, and horrible and hopefully false predictions for the future.

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with Stanford,” Bill’s grating voice interrupted his train of thought, “Literally!  You’re treating this like one of your silly monster hunts in the forest, but what you’re dealing with is unlike anything from Gravity Falls”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re gonna get yourself killed if you’re not careful, IQ”

The man held his chin, giving the demon a slight smirk, “From the sound of it, my death would ruin your plans of universal domination,” a halfhearted laugh, “Maybe it would be a fair sacrifice for mankind!”

Bill’s bricks shifted to a redder hue, “We BOTH know you have a crummy poker face.  You’re too much of a coward to die for the ‘greater good’ or whatever you think you’re telling yourself”

The demon circled around Ford’s back, separating into five other Bills before rejoining in to one large entity, “Did you already forget about our _deal?_ Once you die, your spirit is mine for eternity!  That’s what ‘until the end of time’ means,”

“That deal was off the moment I discovered you were lying to me!” Ford’s skin went pale at the thought of his soul belonging to Bill.  That would be a horrid afterlife to look forward to…

“You say lying, I say not telling the whole truth- But that’s not the point here!” Bill shrunk to a smaller size, easing Stanford’s anxiety from the possibility of being crushed by his former muse, “you WILL die if you keep this up, and you and I both know that’s not ideal,”

He sighed, folding his arms in front of him, “So what do you want to do about it?”

“Well, since I need you alive, and you probably don’t want to be decapitated or mauled by a wendigo…” Bill held out his hand to ford, eye grinning.  Oh, no.  He was joking right?

“…You’re not seriously proposing-“

“I say let’s make a deal!” The demigod interrupted, “I tell you _exactly_ what ya need to do to get rid of those things in exchange for your prolonged life and future use!”

That… was ridiculous.  Did Bill really think he was stupid enough to make another deal with him?!  The way he explained it sounded appealing, sure, but Bill’s specialty was making open-ended deals.  Be vague, give as little as possible, get as much as you can.  As if he would EVER trust that damn demon again!

“Not in a MILLION years, Cipher!” He knocked the obsidian hand away, earning a flat look from Bill.

“Ya sure about that Sixer?”

He growled, “Absolutely positive!” Stanford moved closer to the demigod, “There is no way in Hell I will ever make another deal with you!  I don’t need your help!”  He stomped forward once more, quickly falling to his knees as a surge of pain shot through his foot.  Oh- he could feel the bones reverberating through his leg!  Why did that hurt so much?!

“Doesn’t feel too good, huh Fordsy?” He shot a glare toward the floating triangle’s smug eye, “I’ve been numbing most of the pain you’re in while we’ve been talking… But I guess ya don’t want my help anymore?”

“Y-you damn—“

The look in Bill’s eye made the man’s stomach churn with anger, “It’s a shame really!  You were great while you lasted… But I guess some other schmuck’ll come along to activate the portal eventually,”

Ford clutched his foot.  There was no doubt that this pain was real… but he wouldn’t put it past Bill to be amplifying it to make a point,

“I-I don’t… have an-ny intention of dying, Bill,” that didn’t come out as firmly as he had hoped… but it would have to do.  He needed to hurry and wake up to check on his injury.  Stanford couldn’t remember much past gathering supplies in the lab, so there was a distinct possibility that he passed out.

Bill’s laughter filled the stagnant air around them, “Good luck, then!  I’ll be sure to pay you a visit if you survive the winter!”  The foliage around Stanford suddenly burst into flame, leaving the strong scent of burning wheat and the sound of Bill’s heinous laughter ringing through his head as he awoke. 

He shot forward out of his slouching rest, immediately regretting the sudden movement.  All the supplies needed for fixing up his injuries sat strewn around on the floor. How long had he been out?  Stanford could not see the digital clock on his desk from where he was sitting, and had no intention of getting up to check any time soon…  The time didn’t matter right now, he supposed.  He was safe from those creatures while in his lab!  All he needed to focus on how was checking if his foot was alright and patching himself up.  Stanford slowly and carefully removed his boot to get a better look at the damage, wincing at every small movement. 

It did not look as bad as he thought it would, but not by very much.  The flesh over his metatarsals was terribly swollen, and was turning a mixture of deep purple and yellow.  It was most likely broken.  A sprain was unlikely judging by the sheer amount of pain he was in…   How would he take care of a broken foot?  A cast would be preferable, but that would mean venturing out into the snow or calling a paramedic to his home!  There was no way he could risk the lives of innocent people with those creatures about…  Maybe if he just waited until dawn? …No, the wendigos would just hide under his porch again or find some _other way_ to grab him in the day light.

What was he going to do now?  With a sigh, Stanford removed his jacket and rolled up his right sleeve to get a look as his other prominent wound.  Surely enough, the struggle with the wendigo ripped open the stitches he had given himself.    His arm was coated with thick trails of browning red from where blood had trickled down his arm.  No wonder he was so light headed- he was bleeding out all throughout his dream with Bill!  Stanford hoped that he hadn’t lost enough to do him any permanent harm.  The blackening scabs where his arm had already healed were mostly in place, so he could assume the damage was not too terrible.  What a hassle...  At least the cold was making his skin numb enough that resealing the wound might be bearable without a local anesthetic!  Ford quickly reached for his supplies and got to work, disinfecting the seeping gash and stitching it closed. 

 

The cold didn’t do as much as he hoped for the pain. 

 

Ford searched through his medical supplies with a trembling hand once his arm was finished.  He didn’t care what it was- he just needed SOMETHING to dull the pain!  Where the Hell was that bottle of pills?!  He clearly remembered using them after sewing up his arm the first time, so why weren’t they still here?  Damnit, it was getting hard to think in the freezing lab…  Stanford made a mental note to add automatic heating the next time he built an underground workspace. 

Okay, think… where were they last?  He got into his house, went to the lab, fixed his arm, took the pills, and- oh, right.  He took the pills to his study in case he needed more of them…  Great.  The man leaned back against the cold wall with a huff, looking up at the dark stone ceiling.  Everything hurt.  His foot, his arm, and now even his head was starting to throb.  He did not particularly care whether it was due to how hungry he was, or if it was his body’s reaction to all the wounds and pain he was having to endure.  At this point he just wanted it to stop.

He just wanted it _all_ to stop.  The nonsense with Bill, the wendigos, his injuries… constantly worrying that something was about to get him.  Ford always knew that near death experiences came with the territory of investigating the paranatural, but this was just getting to be too much for him!  He let out a breath, watching the fog evaporate in the air before him.  All these depressing thoughts and feelings were coming from the state of his body… nothing more.  He needed to eat and have a good rest is all.  Maybe he could find the pills if he was careful enough?  He could even try to get the loaf of bread -or anything he could manage to grab- from the porch once the night was over! …

Sure.  As if he was setting foot anywhere near that door!  Even if the wendigos were stuck outside he did not want to push his luck.  Still, though, getting up to his bed would be so nice…  As long as he kept away from the windows and doors he should be—

...

Stanford slowly sat up from his place against the wall, stern expression on his face.  No.  He couldn’t have forgotten, right?  Sure he was in a hurry to get away, but he could not have forgotten something so important!  The memory was just lost due to the excitement!  Think- just focus and think and remember locking the door…  But, even after wracking his brain for a good ten minutes to find the answer he wanted, it never came. 

He slammed the door shut, but never actually locked it. 

What if those things had gotten into his home?  What if they could manage to work the elevator and get down to him?  With his foot in its current state, he would easily become their prey!  It was a preposterous thought, yes… but the wendigos had already proven to be clever beasts.  The man took hold of the rifle to his side.  He was just being over paranoid- they were clever, but not intelligent!  He was safe down here… 

Even with that fact in mind, however… Stanford found himself rising to his feet, recoiling at the pain in each step toward the exit. 

‘They have never tried opening my doors before’ he thought as he entered the elevator.

‘I’ll just take a quick look and lock the door’ his hands jittered as the lift came to a stop. 

Thankfully the doors were oiled well enough to make little noise when opening and closing, allowing him to slip out without drawing attention to his position.  Ford propped himself against the nearby wall and did his best to listen to his surroundings.  He could hear the wind blowing outside and the steady creaks of the house settling, but otherwise it was… quiet.  There were no howls, no scratches, nothing saying his name.  Just… stillness.

The silence of it all set him on edge.

How long had it been since the air was vacant of demons calling to him?  Come to think of it… when had he last heard them?  Not since he woke up, at the very least.  Stanford bit his lip and stepped lightly forward.  Was this another one of their tricks?  Yes, it had to be some attempt to lure him outside or get him close enough to a window or door…  Why else would they be silent?  The man gritted his teeth as he continued forward, glancing around in the darkness.  He did not want to risk turning on any lights around the house in case the wendigos had gotten in.  Still, though, being left to gaze into the abyss of each dark room on the way to the front door did nothing to settle his nerves. 

Every little noise seemed to echo off the walls around him.  Each breath he took, each creak of the floor boards, every shift in fabric from his clothes- all of the usually minor sounds seemed to be amplified in this darkness.  Ford brought his feet to a stop in the middle of the main corridor, holding his breath in an attempt to better take in his surroundings before rounding the final corner. 

It was cold.  He could feel a light breeze moving through his home… but that didn’t mean anything.  He could have left a window cracked open or it could just be the draftiness of the house or-

A burning sensation began to grow in Stanford’s chest and head as soon as he heard it.  There was a slow creaking noise coming from around the corner, and a rhythmic tapping that came along with it.  The noise was quiet, but it was definitely not in his imagination.  The man swallowed and inched forward.  He peered around the corner, desperately hoping that his imagination was just getting the better of him… but was soon proven right. 

The door was open and swaying slowly from the cold wind. 

Stanford readied his rifle as he slowly continued on.  He had to be ready- no matter how much he wanted to believe that the wind could have blown the door open, he knew one of those creatures had to be lurking somewhere close by!   The polydactyl took a breath and swiftly turned from behind the wall, aiming directly for the front door… but was met with nothing.  The monster he expected was not waiting to pounce on him- the only thing out of the ordinary was a small bit of snow that had blown in during the time it was left open.  What was going on…  Why wouldn’t the wendigo be there unless—

It was already in the house.  It could have been watching him as he got to the door, just waiting for the right moment to attack and drag him outside!  Oh no no no no no no.  This was NOT good.  Ford bit his lip, trying to decide on what to do.  If there was only one in the house… maybe he could keep it off until morning or even kill it!  The man was not sure how he would accomplish that with his foot in its current condition… but what else could he do?!  He was trapped.

Ford took shallow breaths as thoughts ran through his mind.  He needed to find where it was hiding and get rid of it as soon as possible… but first he needed to make sure no more would get in.  Stanford stepped toward the door and reached out to close it, but stopped abruptly once he took a closer look at the broken porch outside. 

No matter how dark it was outside or how far it sunk into the shadows, he could distinctly see one of those hideous beasts.  Its milky eyes reflected what little moonlight shown through the clouds, its gaping mouth breathed slowly as it watched him, and its rake-like hands curled disgustingly in on themselves.  It made no motions to move or spring for him- it simply watched with hungry eyes. 

What was it doing?  Did it not know it had been spotted?  No, that couldn’t be it- he was standing directly in its line of sight!  The wendigo had to be waiting for something…  He waited for the beast to move.  It was going to spring at him or grab his leg or crawl into his house or do _something!_   Ford held in a seemingly one-sided staring contest for what felt like ages, but the wendigo still made no effort to move or attack him.  This didn’t make any sense…  If he was not terrified that any movement would cause it to strike, he would have closed the door and found the medication for his foot by now!  Stanford looked around the darkened entrance for any hints as to what it was waiting for.  Surely if must be waiting for him to do something or move… 

Ford’s eyes flickered around his surroundings, doing his best to see whatever was keeping the beast… out…?  The man’s eyes were drawn to the top of the doorway as he noticed the faintest glow coming from the wall.  The light was so dim that he could barely see it- like a glow stick his brother had left in the freezer for years on end…  It took a moment for Stanford’s eyes to make out the origin point, but his memory was soon able to deduce the source of the glow.

The sachet and runes were emitting a light blueish-black glow which oozed oddly like a thick liquid onto the ceiling.  He looked up, taking a light breath of bewilderment as he watched the liquid-light ungulate over the top of the room.  The light it gave off was only slightly brighter than that from the sachet itself, not producing enough to eliminate the room any.  Though, it was incredible that it gave off any luminance whatsoever!  The strange ether that danced around was… honestly hard to explain.  It was dark to any eye, but the longer Stanford stared, the more it changed.  It seemed to shift from black to blue to murky red in random placed and moments.  He was not sure if it was just his weary eyes playing tricks on him, but he thought he could even see little specks of white that reminded him of stars!

It felt like the entire universe was in his ceiling.

But… why was this here?  It was stunning, but why were the sachets leaking like this?  He looked back to the wendigo which had inched closer in his time staring.  They were supposed to be protective seals… but they were not acting like any barrier spell he had ever read about!  He was surprised that they were “working” at all, to be honest…  They seemed to be keeping the wendigo at bay- whatever they were doing.  Stanford inched closer to the door in an attempt to close it, only to have the wendigo do the same, causing the sachet to glow brighter.  Interesting…  He moved once more, instigating the same reaction- only this time noticing the ceiling’s movement growing more agitated.  The ambient “brightness” of the room was enough to see at the very least! …but he was standing mere inches from the creature now. 

Incredible-  Whatever the spell was doing was keeping the monster away.  Was it some form of cloaking spell?  What would make more sense that a barrier at this point…  Oh, but who cared about that!  He had a wendigo as good as captured from the inside of his home!  His various injuries hurt and he desperately wanted to just leave the creature outside in favor of a warm fire and pills…  But he would regret it for the rest of his life if he passed up this opportunity to study it.  He would just look it over and close the door.  As long as he didn’t get too close, it would be fine.

Stanford squinted at the beast, trying to absorb as many of its features as possible.  There were so many details he missed when looking at them the first time…  It was terrifyingly more humanoid than he cared to admit.  Its skin was so pale that darkened veins showed through clearly.  Its eyes still looked dead and blind, but flickered frantically from one place to another.  Perhaps it could still see?  Even if only a bit… he would feel better not imagining it memorizing the interior of his house.  The thing’s legs resembled those of a deer or dog, but seemed to have been broken and shattered that way judging by the bits of dingy bone poking out.  Its claws were- oh goodness they were _horrid_.  The talons were easily a foot long, each inch caked in dried dirt and what he could only assume was blood.  They looked as sharp as he remembered them feeling as they ground against his flesh to boot.  He leaned forward slightly to get a better view of the thing’s snarling maw, grazing a previously invisible barrier over the threshold.

The wendigo lunged for him, passing through the gel-like barrier as it entered his home.  Ford cried out as he fell back on to the cold floor, biting down hard on his lip from the pain.  What?!?  It was able to get in?  Oh of COURSE it was able to get in- why would a cloaking spell work as a barrier!  The man pushed himself away from the beast as fast as he could as it was pulled slowly by the membrane-like substance inside his door.  This seemed about right for his recent luck to be honest! 

The man reached for the weapon that had fallen close by, aiming with his shaking hands.  She shot cried through the room, resulting in a pained shriek from the beast.  Of course one should would not be enough to kill the thing.  He let out an agitated growl before steadying his hands the best he and pulling the trigger.  The wendigo cried out once more and writhed in pain, but soon stood once more.  No… the gun was at its most powerful setting!  One blast should have been enough to blow a man’s head clean from his shoulders- why the HELL was the wendigo not dying?!  He continued to fire at the creature as it clawed closer, only gaining cries of pain and agitation in response.  Shit- what else could he do?   Could the spell be of any more help?  …Wait, if the cloaking spell had been broken when Stanford touched the barrier, why was his ceiling still in its current state-

All movement from the liquid stopped abruptly as the creature reached the center of the room.  Stanford gave a slightly puzzled look as the substance took on a mirror-like shine, welling into one spot and dropping onto the beast.  It screamed out as it was enveloped in the thick substance, clawing and gnashing at the dark liquid. 

The man backed away as far as the walls of the room would allow as he watched the scene.  The wendigo choked and gagged as the substance entered its orifices, soon followed with a warm glow coming from its center.  The light spread through its thick veins, drawing a final cry from the monster before it fell to the floor. 

…

Stanford waited a moment before moving.  The room grew dark as the glow faded from the thing’s veins, the ceiling no longer danced with the colors of the universe, and the wendigo laid motionless on the ground.  Was… was it dead?  He moved forward slowly, poking at the creature with his broken foot.  No reaction came from it…  The man limped to his door and closed it, sliding down the cold wooden surface as soon as it was locked. 

The howls of far off wendigos filled the air once more.  Maybe he was just too tired to hear them calling his name at this point, or maybe they had given up on him…  It did not matter to him now, he supposed.  He would have to thank that witch if he ever met her again; the spell not only worked, but also gained him a test subject. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three!! I've had the majority of this done since before the semester started and it's just been like pulling teeth after that!  
> We'll call this a birthday present for my friend Moosesmittens!! They seemed to really like it when beta-ing the chapter and TBH nothing makes me happier than that. 
> 
> Also, check out this AWESOME fanart that was made for this fanfic (I LOOOOOVE fanart and will 100% always showcase it at the end of a chapter if you send me it!)  
> http://spiritdreamdoodlesandlifeblog.tumblr.com/post/150003993471/fan-fic-art-of-koncretes-frostbite
> 
> As always, please let me know if you spot any typos or weird sentences.


	4. The Heirophant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning: There's a bit of blood and some self mutilation in this chapter, so watch out for that.

‘Entry date 12/5,

                There have been a few… minor setbacks in my investigation of the wendigos.  Aside from the multiple injuries that I now have to deal with, the pantry is completely empty and all the food I bought yesterday was ruined or hidden during one of my most recent scrapes with the monsters.  Usually I would just go out and get more from the store, but I am unable to leave my home due to an increased number of the creatures hiding under my porch and in the surrounding trees.  They don’t seem to be leaving during the daylight hours like they used to… they just watch me from whatever dark coverage they can find.  There is a silver lining however!  I finally have a perfect subject for experimentation.  I do hope that whatever magical energy killed it won’t disturb any of my tests, though.’

 

Stanford looked down at the pale body laid out over the table.  Even in death the wendigo looked vicious; its gnashing teeth showed through small holed in its cheeks and its claws still looked ready to slice his throat open.  He would be afraid of it springing to life at any second if he had not seen the thing die before his eyes!  The man leaned over to scribble notes in a small journal as he examined the corpse.  At least he could confirm that it was hominid at _some_ point in its life judging by its base anatomy.  It actually looked as if it had mutated and grown into its current form…  There was no sign of genitals on its body either, so it was unlikely that the things could conventionally breed.  What on earth would cause such a drastic change?  There had to be some explanation.

He grabbed a nearby scalpel and lifted it to the creature’s clammy flesh.  He would surely find answers inside the monster!  Some sign of what caused it to change- like a strange chemical deep within its muscle or runes of a curse over its bones.  Ford pushed the sharp mettle into its skin, watching as the flesh puckered under the pressure before the scalpel slid from its pale surface.  Strange…  He hadn’t anticipated it being so… rubbery.  Stanford tried cutting into the cadaver once more.  Then again, and again, and again- What the hell?!  Finally the man tried stabbing the tool into its sunken gut, flinching back as the sharp end snapped off and flew past his cheek. 

An aggravated growl escaped the man’s teeth as he slammed his hands down on the table.  He did not have the patience for this…  This was ridiculous!  Like some final act of spite left behind by the damn creature in its dying breath.  The scientist took a deep breath and stilled his shaking fists.  He should take a break for a while.  The sun would soon be setting, and it would become even harder to focus with the monsters constantly calling his name.  Looking over the old folk stories one more time could never hurt…

‘Entry date 12/8,

                When I the stories from the archives said “wendigos cannot be harmed by the tools of man”, I thought they were being factious and referring again to punishment from the gods.  Now, however, I know they were being completely literal.  I tried multiple times over the past few days to slice that damn corpse open with multiple different tools and got nowhere!  Iron, steel, titanium- even the alien mettle from the crash site left little more than indentation on the thing’s skin.  I’m starting to think that imperviousness to human-made materials is part of being a wendigo…

                In a last ditch effort to gain access to the wendigo’s inner workings, I decided to try material from the crystal-coated bear trap that scratched one of the monsters about a month ago.  It was not a pretty or _clean_ cut, but it actually worked!  I managed to break through the thing’s hide after around twenty-five minutes of scraping at it.  More updates to come as I explore the windigo’s innards.

I feel nauseous, though I hope it is from the scent and not… It’s just from the organs, I’m sure.’

 

His glasses fogged up as he breathed through his rolled up turtleneck.  It took an hour to fully open that monster’s sternum, and now he was seriously regretting his choice.  The thing reeked!  It had only been dead a few days- why was it already this rotten?!  He felt like he was going to vomit from the stench and visually decomposing organs- that is, he _would have_ vomited if he had anything but acid in his stomach.

The man gulped down the bile that was beginning to rise in his throat and continued to rummage through the contents of its chest cavity.  The brown guts felt so slimy against his gloves…  how long would it take for this level of decomposition?  Surely over a month at the very least.  What on earth could cause it to decay as such an alarming rate…  Perhaps it was a side effect of the protective magic…?  Or maybe it was already this rotten when it died…  Whatever the reason, there was not much he could work with by way of organs. 

The muscles and bones, on the other hand, were more than interesting.  Yes, they were terribly withered, but the way that they were stretched and pulled around eachother was incredible!  It was obviously an effect of whatever transformed the human this once was into a monster judging by the stretched sinews and fractured bones…  He could only imagine how much pain they felt when going through their… _“Metamorphose”_ of sorts…

‘Entry date 12/9,

                My test subject seems to have been a woman in her past life.  She looks to have been in her late twenties or early thirties when she became a wendigo, but it is proving hard to tell just _how old_ she would have been today.  There seems to be some form of undead preservation built into whatever curse causes the transformation, which keeps the body relatively “alive” and working as the body starts to decompose.  If I go by the slurry of meat within her chest cavity, however, I assume she was around for forty years or so.

If anything good has come from dealing with her putrid guts, though, I’d have to say it’s how well the stench is keeping off my hunger.‘

 

‘Entry date 12/10,

                I may need to take a break from studying the corpse for a while.  Being in the freezing lab is more than uncomfortable, to say the least.  Everything is so cold and numb and my hands are too jittery for me to feel safe when working with it any more.  I will have to get back to it eventually…  but I just can’t deal with it right now.’

 

‘Entry date 12/13,

                Examining the corpse has continued to prove interesting.  Though faded, I have been able to make out a few interesting (though faded) tattoos from her shriveled arms and lower back.  They actually seem to be tribal in origin- mostly rewards or proof of having traveled great distances, though the one on her back looks to have been purely for aesthetics.  It may even have been a name before having wrinkled and worn.  I wish I could spend more time each day working with the body, but having to force my hands to keep still is becoming exceedingly difficult.

Something a little disturbing happened while looking over the body today.  I’m sure it was just a trick of my eyes or a hallucination from hunger… but it looked like the body moved.  I know it sounds ridiculous but--  I need to eat something soon…  I need to try leaving the house soon.’

 

‘Entry date 12/15,

                The brain seems to be surprisingly intact as compared to the rest of the internal organs.  It is nearly in perfect condition, really.  This might explain how clever the wendigos are.

It is becoming... increasingly harder- no, nearly _impossible_ for me to focus on my work.  My stomach doesn’t really hurt any more, but I’m just so tired… I know I’m not drinking as much water as I should be too, but what can I do? I haven’t eaten in so long, but I feel disgusting and bloated and I’m seriously regretting not keeping live specimens in the lab at this point! At least then I would have _something_ to eat.’

 

‘Entry date 12/17,

                Leaving the house is STILL not an option!  Those damn things were all clustered under my broken porch as soon as I opened the front door…  They just stayed there, huddled under the broken planks of wood and watching me.  I hate them.  I hate looking at them and I hate HEARING them and I hate this damn corpse in my basement.

What am I going to do?  There is not much more I can do with the body at this point…’

 

‘Entry date 12/19.

                I have hit a wall in my investigation.  I’ve opened every cavity inside its body and explored each of its putrid organs more times than I can count!  Every detail I could think of has been meticulously logged in one of my notebooks and honestly I can’t think of anything else I can do with it!  At this point I just want the damn thing OUT.  I hate looking at its disgusting face every day.

I fainted twice yesterday.  I need to eat something.’

 

Stanford sat on the cold stone floor, curled in on himself and shaking lightly.  It was so cold… _Everything_ was so cold…  He blinked his eyes slowly as he stared into the fabric of his jacket.  Even with his glasses, everything was so blurry…  Is this what it felt like to starve?  Cold and aching and just… so tired…  No- He couldn’t give up yet- he had so much more work to do.  He was no closer to figuring out what turned humans into wendigos or sealing his dimension off from Bill or any number of the tasks he wanted to accomplish in Gravity falls!  He just needed something to eat… 

The man looked up to the metal table beside him.  The thought had been going through his mind for weeks now, but his moral compass had always excluded the option.  But now?  He was so desperate…  He needed to eat, and he had an ample enough source of food right beside him. 

“It’s dead,” He whispered to himself, “no no- I can’t,” Stanford gritted his teeth and curled back into his ball.

“But it’s just a monster now,” he bit his lip, “and I can’t study it any further-” a sudden pang of hunger struck, forcing the man’s hand to clutch his gut.  He was dying.  Oh god he was _dying._   His stomach felt like it was digesting itself, and probably was in all honesty!  Stanford stood on unsteady legs and loomed over the corpse.    How long could a human even live without eating?  It could not be all that much longer judging by how he felt… 

He was _desperate_. 

What other choice did he have?  Dying from starvation would be a terrible end to fighting demons and monsters for the past month…

“It’s not human anymore” The scientist took a breath and lifted the crystal coated knife that he had fashioned for dissecting the creature, “it’s not human anymore,” he repeated, wedging the sharpest edge of the blade into the dead thigh, “it’s…” Ford gulped and tore a thin strip of muscle from the chunk of meat.  It was starting to dry and flake in unappetizing ways.

He lifted the flesh to his mouth, hesitating before opening his quivering mouth and starting to chew on the meat.  Don’t think about it.  Don’t think about what it is or what it was or who it used to be- just eat it.  Just eat it and live and regret it when you have the time…  Stanford swallowed and paused for a moment before quickly tearing off another strip of meat.  It… it tasted so _good_. 

It was probably just the starvation or just finally being able to eat something after weeks, but it was delicious.  Sweet and somehow tender, which was so strange when considering how old the muscle was, but he really did not care anymore.  His mind was only flooded with the need to eat and get as much flesh into his stomach as he could!  Why had he waited so long to do this?!  He nearly killed himself, and this huge supply of food was right _under his nose_!

The entire thigh was gone before he knew it and he was full.  He was warm and full and bloated- and slightly sick to his stomach- but… mostly _full_.  He would be fine.  He was okay and he would live…

 

At first everything seemed alright.  Days passed and everything felt so much better.  He even had more energy than he could remember during the past few months!  It seemed like a good enough opportunity to tidy up his poor home that had fallen into disarray over the month.  Honestly, it was amazing how filthy everything had gotten in such a short time!  He did not even remember how all of his notes got scattered throughout his home…

The polydactyl let out a sigh as he set down the freshly gathered stack of papers.  His study seemed so cold like this…  It felt like so much time had passed since he last sat down just to study or make a new journal entry; his life had been consumed by the wendigos for so long…  How long was it going to take to get back into the normal swing of life once the chill of winter left him without those evil things?  Maybe he should finally make an entry about the wendigos…  There was enough information in his notes for a hearty two pages at the LEAST.  He picked up a mug from the table, looking at the dried coffee in the bottom.  God what he would give for some coffee right about now…

Stanford picked up each old cup and mug from around the study and carried them toward the kitchen.  It was not even the feeling of sleep deprivation that made him crave it!  He just wanted the taste and the sensation of the warm mug in his cold, chapped, fingers.  Come to think of it… he did not feel particularly tired at all.  He set each dish down in the sink, gripping the counter as he thought. 

It was strange, right?  He had barely slept in the past few months between the wendigos constantly calling to him and Bill’s nightmares, and he could hardly count the times he passed out from exhaustion of hunger as resting.  It was out of the ordinary to say the very least!  Did… did it have something to do with the wendigo flesh?  His stomach churned at the thought of the old meat that he had been ingesting over the past few days.  Maybe there was some magical property to the stuff that aided in regeneration?  It would make sense, taking into account how the creatures could still move while decaying…  His gut twisted more as he thought it over.

It could also be some factor of storing nutrients in the muscle tissue.  After all, the wendigos didn’t seem to have much by way of a stomach or digestive system!  They obviously ate other animals… and humans… so the extracted vitamins and minerals from whatever they ate had to go _somewhere_ , right?  The man grabbed his stomach as a rather painful cramp twisted through him.  Oh- That wasn’t normal…  No no no, he was fine.  It was just his mind playing tricks on him!  He had been fine the past few days- there was no reason to feel—

He knelt down on a shaking knee, white fingertips digging painfully into the counter and into his gut.  No, this was not just his mind.  There was no way his mind could create pain this harsh!  It felt like- Stanford clasped his hand in front of his mouth as nausea struck him again.  Oh God it felt like his stomach was _rotting_.

Stanford sat on the floor of his kitchen, clutching his gut and groaning quietly.  Why…?  Why was he in so much pain?  Was it his body’s reaction to the old meat, or just catching up to him after eating for the first time in a while?  The man rolled over on his side and bit down on his lip.  Maybe he just hadn’t eaten enough…?  He was surprisingly hungry for how he felt.  It was such a strange mix of sensations!  He felt like vomiting all of the wretched meat that was inside of him, but he also felt so empty.  Where had the wonderful feeling of fullness from earlier?  He needed to eat more.  More more more more more more-

Ford curled in on himself even further.  He had to get ahold of himself- these thoughts running through his head didn’t feel like his!  They more suited to a feral animal than a scientist…  But he was just so hungry again…  Just a little more meat- only enough to make the hurting stop!  He knew he would feel better if he just finished off the last little bit of that calf muscle.  He didn’t even need to get his knife anymore!  His teeth would work just fine on the tough sinews of the beast, he just needed to get up and get to the body-

It’s a body.  No, he needed to be respectful for the human it had been.  If he just started tearing into it like an animal… what would make him better than the monsters outside?  The man bit further into his lip, drawling a small trickle of blood from the frost bitten flesh.  He shut his eyes tightly in an attempt to block out the pain and sudden thoughts of hunger.  He was better than this- he just needed to recompose himself.  Just block it out.  Just block out all the bad thoughts and focus on the stillness and quite of the house…  Just be still…

 

Stanford opened his eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the new darkness around him.  Everything was blurry.  His jaw hurt, his head hurt, and the pain in his stomach was still there.  At least it had lessened-- well, that or his body had gotten used to it…  He sat up, resting his face in his hands.  How long had he been asleep?  It was pitch black outside now, so it had been a few hours at the very least.  The man rubbed the dried blood from his chin, absentmindedly licking it from his palm as he stood.  His mind felt so fuzzy- as if he had been to one of Fiddleford’s college parties the night before. 

The entire day was wasted because of what, an overgrown tummy ache?  So much for writing the entry on wendigos.  Stanford walked down the hallway to his study, flicking on the light and immediately recoiling at the brightness.  Why the hell was it so much brighter?!  The man covered his eyes and turned the lights back off.  At least his eyes could adjust to the darkness quickly!  He was slightly worried about how blurry his surroundings still looked, though.  If he couldn’t feel them on his face, he might have assumed his glasses fell off while he was asleep!  It was probably just from nearly starving to death…  he could chock a lot of his current health issues to nearly starving to death…

The man sat at his desk, switching the radio on to his favorite station.  It was mostly static, but he could still make out the nightly news cast.  The normal dribble of happenings in Gravity Falls was talked about- a new diner opening, the mayor’s deteriorating health, a bear attack… nothing out of the ordinary there! 

As he continued listening, however, a strange feeling started to wash over him.  The man on the radio was not talking about the holiday season like the days before.  Normally, he would not complain about the lack of forced holiday cheer.  He was never a very jolly man in that sense, and the thought of days specifically set aside to praise magical sky men felt stupid to him.  In this case, however, it was highly worrying.  The radio voice began counting back from ten, drawing Ford’s eyes toward the clock on his desk.

“9…8…7…”

No, that couldn’t be it, right?

“6…5…4…”

There was no way!  Just yesterday the station had been playing nonstop Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby…

“3…2…1…”

Stanford jumped from his chair as cheers and well wishes for the new year poured from the radio.  Nonono, it wasn’t even the 25th yet- how on earth could it be the new year?!  It was impossible to sleep for that long, right??  The sound of fireworks drew his eye to the window.  The lights were so bright they burned his eyes!  They had to be miles away- why were his eyes so sensitive to-

…

The man rushed to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.  What a silly thought!  There was no way…  It was just his paranoia again!  Even still… he was scared.  He was scared to turn on the light and look at his reflection.  He had to, but… what if he was right?

Stanford shook his head slowly.  It was fine.  _He_ was fine!  There was nothing to worry about!  The polydactyl took a deep breath and turned on the light.  It _burned_.  He could barely keep his eyes open, and when he forced his twitching eyelids to do as he wanted he could barely see through the stinging tears that began to well in his eyes.

A few minutes passed before he could even see himself-  Suddenly, keeping his eyes open was no longer the issue.  He stared slack jawed at his reflection, touching the mirror with his blue fingertips to make sure it was real.  To make sure _he_ was real.

His eyes were a milky white.  His skin was a disgusting grey color that turned his stomach almost as much as seeing his own deep blue veins protruding from underneath.   There were strange lumps coming from under the skin on his head that felt painful to the touch. 

He looked like a monster.

Stanford stumbled away from his reflection, hitting his arm on the hard tile ad he slipped backwards.  That was him?!  Was that really what he looked like??  Oh god oh god oh god what happened?!  He was starting to look like- like one of those _things_.  Why did he look like this?  Tears streamed down the man’s cheeks as he gripped at his hair and skin.  What was happening to him?  Is… is this why he was asleep for so long?

He took deep breaths, doing his best to calm his own hysteria.  It’s okay it’s okay!  You’re alive!  That’s all that matters!  No need to have a breakdown- No there was PLENTY of reason to have a breakdown!  What was he thinking- he was turning into a _WENDIGO_?  …Was he turning into a wendigo?  He took another deep breath, swallowing the mucus and bile that was building in his throat before inching toward the mirror once more. 

Wow…  he really did look like those things save for the hair and…  what were the things on his head?  If he thought rationally, he could calm himself.  Exploring his new predicament was the best way to calm himself… probably.  Ford wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve before touching the protrusions on his scalp.

The skin was tender to the touch, and honestly felt as if it was stretched paper thin.  It would not take much to break the tissue and see what was g… growing… underneath.  He closed his eyes and took a few more breaths as he felt himself getting worked up again.  He needed to stay calm.

Ford reached into the medicine cabinet and retrieved his old straight razor.  He opened it, looking at the sharp blade.  …This was a bad idea.  He raised it to his skin and swallowed.  This was a _bad_ idea.  The man pushed it into his skin, cutting the hurting tissue away.  Blood quickly spilled from the new wounds, but he continued cutting.  This _was_ a bad idea.  Stanford lowered the blade once he was finished, looking at the results of his painful labor. 

The things sticking out from his head… they were made of dark colored bone almost like… like deer horns.

“..heh,” The man snorted, tears and blood still streaming down his face, “hehehehE HAHAHA!” He laughed, dropping the razor into the sink and cupping his face into his hands, “AH HAHAHAHAHAHAHA—“ His own laughter was cut off as hot bile rose in his throat and mouth.  The man coughed and gagged into the sink before him. 

‘It’s going to be okay’ Stanford slid down from the sink to the floor.  He hugged his legs close, shivering from everything that had just happened. 

‘I can handle this’ He buried his face in his arms and gritted his teeth, immediately recoiling at the pain.  He sat up and felt around his mouth with his tongue to find the new source of pain, eyes widening in surprise.  Ford spat out two bloody teeth into his palm before pulling his mouth open to feel his jaw again.  He ran a finger over where the teeth had previously been, finding large fangs growing from his gums.  The man continued to feel further back into his mouth, grimacing as he found more grotesque fangs peeking out from above his human teeth…

…Stanford couldn’t handle this alone.  This… everything was too much.  He needed help.  He needed someone who he could trust to not ridicule him for his horrible situation.  Who could he trust with this?  Who would even believe him and, better yet, not immediately kill him for being a monster?  That person wasn’t Fiddleford… not anymore. 

He needed a friend.  He needed someone who always was There for him when he needed it

…He needed Stanley. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (early) Halloween! I hope you all enjoy this chapter :)


	5. The Chariot Inverted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Sorry for the late (SUUUUPER LATE) update! I promise I'll get back to writing more in the future. For now, have this! We finally get to see Stanford's true form >v>
> 
> As usual, please tell me any mistakes in spelling or grammar. OH- one more thing! If you ever make fan art of this fic (please make fanart omg) please link it to me in a comment here or on my tumblr/deviantart (Koncreates for both) 
> 
> And with that, enjoy~

Thick layers of white snow crunched under his worn boots as he approached the building.  The sky that loomed overhead was a mixture of gray and charcoal, accentuating the mangled barbed wire and warning signs that were strewn around the yard. 

“Yeesh, think ya’ could’ve cleaned up a bit?” The man mused to himself as he stepped around a large pile of snow.  There was obviously something underneath it, but he was too wary to find out what.

Stanley climbed over the broken planks that used to be a front porch, arriving at a gashed and marred door.  Weird… What could have done all of this damage?  His brother had never been one to get into trouble… but judging by the hastily written postcard and the massive property damage, Ford was way in over his head. 

…But, then again, Stanford was always the more _awkward_ twin.  Maybe “PLEASE COME” was all he could think to write?  How his brother found out where he lived still puzzled him… even so, he obviously wanted to see him!  That was a start in the right direction, right?  “You haven’t seen your brother in over ten years—it’s okay, he’s family!  He won’t bite…”

Stanley knocked on the door and waited for a response.  …and waited… and waited…  He called his brother’s name a few times while banging on the door… but there was still no answer. 

Ten minutes passed and there was no sign of his twin.  Great!  He was out freezing his fingers off, and Ford couldn’t be bothered to get the door!  Stan looked around the porch for an extra key to the door (or a nice rock for the window) and stumbled on the mangled wood under his feet

“fUCK--!” His voice echoed through the heavy trees around him as he fell to what was left of the porch.  The man growled and pushed himself back up on his feet, stomping back to the door, “Alright- I’ve had just about ENOUGH of this!  If you won’t let me in, I’m letting MYSELF in,”

Stan waited in vain for a response to his bluff.  Fine, hard way was fine by him.  He knelt in front of the door, running his calloused fingers over the scuffed knob as he looked at the nicked key hole.  Whatever messed up the porch must have done a number on this too…  He’d be lucky if he could even get his lock pick into the torn up slot!  The man let out a slow breath.  Was it even worth all the effort to break in?  If his brother really wanted to see him he could have answered the door!  He should just leave- it was obvious that Ford didn’t really need him for anything! …The note he sent still worried him, though.  And it wasn’t like Stanford to summon him for some prank or to humiliate him…  That was more something he would do.

A loud, grinding click came from the locked door, drawing Stan’s eyes back to the forsaken lock.  Stanley jumped back from the door as it began to creak open. 

Stan waited with baited breath for a moment, before his brother- or at least who he _assumed_ to be his brother appeared behind the small opening.  It must be a trick of the afternoon light- something like the sun reflecting off of the white snow!  There’s no way that the tired eye staring down at him was actually glowing… right?

A sigh of relief came from Stanford as the door opened the rest of the way.  He did not come out to greet his brother, or even help him up for that matter.  Stan’s twin stepped back into the eerie darkness of the house, leaving his definitely glowing eyes as the only marking that there was any depth to the shack’s void. 

“Well I can always count on you for a warm welcome,” Stan stood with a huff, dusting himself off before entering his brother’s home. 

He couldn’t make out much of anything from inside the house.  Actually, even with the small stream of light coming in through the door behind him, it was surprisingly dark, “So uh… all the curtains closed for some nerd-science reason?”

“Just close the door, Stanley” Ford’s voice was raspier than he remembered it being… Well, it had been roughly a decade, it was normal for your voice to mature in that amount of time!  Yeah…  That still didn’t explain the glowing eyes.  Seriously, why were his eyes glowing??  He knew for a fact that no drug could do that to someone- well, no street drug at least…  Maybe he finally found some magical doodad like he always dreamed about?  …No, that was stupid!  There was no such thing as magic.  It was just some... weird science…thing.

He did as his brother asked, closing the door and watching his only usable source of light fade away.  Stan looked around the room as his eyes gradually adjusted to his new surroundings.  Surprisingly enough, everything was in a mess!  Trash was all over the floor, a few books with all the pages torn out were strewn across the floor, and the walls were covered in gashes that almost exactly matched the ones outside. 

The man was not sure if he should be happy or worried that his brother was living like this.  On one hand, it felt nice to see his stuck up brother’s life in shambles like his own, but on the other hand… just thinking like that made him feel gross inside, “What’s all this about anyw—“

Stanley finally looked back at his brother, eyes now fully adjusted to the darkness, and knew that worried was exactly the right thing to feel, “HOLY MOSES-“ He stumbled away from the thing in front of him on instinct. 

His “brother” looked- How could he even explain it?  Stark white skin, mangled fangs protruding out of his mouth, and… were those horns?  Those were horns.  Deer horns coming out from his scalp.  What the hell happened to his broth—No.  There was no way that thing could be his brother!  He remembered a small dorky nerd, not some forsaken demon wearing his skin!  Yeah- that must be it- whatever messed up the house must have gotten in and killed his… brother… 

NononononononO!  That couldn’t be it- he refused to believe that’s what happened!  He couldn’t have gotten there too late to save his brother… right?

“Stanley-“A shout from Ford’s twin, “Calm down an-“ Incoherent ranting, “Just lis-“ Profanity.

“STANLEY.” His borderline hysterical brother shut his mouth and looked into Stanford’s eyes, “…Thank you,” he sighed

“I know this is... strange-”

“No kidding!”

“-BUT.  Please, just… listen to me”

Stan watched the monster before him, thinking.  He took shallow breaths, before gulping down the words and bile in his throat to speak, “What… What are you?”

“I...” A pause.  The glowing eyes narrowed like his brother’s always did when he was deep in thought, “I’m…  I can explain,”

 

The room around them felt stiff.  The air was stuffy and nearly suffocating.  It was still dark.  It was still quiet, though now it was due to confusion- concern?  No longer because of fear, in any case.  Was it pity he felt for his brother?  Yeah…  Pity.  Something Stanley never thought he would feel toward the twin who abandoned him in favor of some stuffy school.  Stan looked up from his cup of stale water, attempting to get a glimpse of his brother’s expression.  It was not hard with the luminous orbs seated within his face- almost like twin moons glowering from within. 

He looked… in pain, “I-It’s not like ya had much choice, right?” A chuckle met with silence.

“…” He sighed.  What was he supposed to say?  He had done plenty of horrible things in the past decade, but Ford refused to see past his own ego and admit that he was not as bad-  No, he should probably stop trying to see the worst in his twin…  It would be too easy to pick at his scabs like this!  What would be the point in starting a fight with—with a monster…

“Well! Eh…” Stan stood, “No use moping around about it!”

“Stanley… It’s not that simp-“

“Geez Stanford!  What’s done is done, not like ya can undo it.” He put a hand on his shoulder.  Reassuring… Or, at least attempting to be, “Do you really plan on sitting in the dark forever?  No more science, no more reading or acting like a nerd?  No more exploring whatever weird stuff you’ve been obsessed with since we were kids?”

Silence.

“Look, you’re held up in here for some dumb boy-scout reason like ‘not wanting risk the public’, right?”

Stanford hesitated before answering, “Not exactly,“

“Well stop it!” Stan interrupted.  Was he even listening?

 “If ya ask me, this is the perfect opportunity to find whatever spookums ya want!  I mean, turning into a monster can’t be so bad right?  I’ll bet ya got some neat powers out of it!”

Ford winced slightly.  Even if he was a monster, it did not feel good hearing it said out loud, “…Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why- How are you so optimistic about this?” In the weeks leading up to Stan actually arriving at his doorstep, he realized it was all so pointless.  Struggling against the transformation, trying to cure it, trying to undo what he’d done…  What was the point?  There was no way he could continue on in his life’s work like… like this!  And why should he?  The old writings were right- this was a punishment for him.  He could have accepted death, but instead he _ate_ something that used to be _human_.  Not to mention arguably still sentient at death.  He had gotten close to something on that level of wrong while under Bill’s control, but he never actually let the demon follow through on it!

How could he excuse doing something that he forbade someone he used to adore from doing?  Maybe it was that thought that disgusted him the most… Did this mean he was really worse than Bill?  Was this horrible form really a way to show him how wretched he had become?

Calling Stan here was a mistake.  He just… didn’t understand the severity of his situation or what he’d done-

“I’ve spent a long time in the dark too,” Ford looked up to his brother with a questioning look, “I-I mean like, metaphorically or… something,” His brother averted his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck, “Ya called me here for a reason, right? Believe me, I’d ditch you and all of…” he motioned to Stanford’s body as a whole, ” _this_ if I could, but what kinda brother would I be if I just left you like this?”

“A sensible one,”

“A terrible one!” Stan laughed, gently punching his brother’s arm, “What kinda person leaves their twin when he’s having such a hard time?”

“Stanley I…” A moment of silence passed.  Stan was trying far too hard, but it was… charming in a way.  There was no way he could shut him down like he wanted to, “I hardly think you can call us ‘twins’ anymore,”

His brother stared, bursting into a short fit of laughter, “Yeah well, looks or not, it’s still my job to take care of you!”

Stan gave his brother another once-over.  Ford still looked terrifying as all hell… but he was not frightened of him anymore.  If he looked hard enough, he could clearly see that scared face he used keep safe from bullies and take beatings for when they were kids.  No matter how angry he was at his brother, there was just no way he could leave him like this.  He just needed to lift his spirits a bit!  Maybe help him chop off those horns too.  First, though, they had to start small,

“Your house’s way too depressing- how’s about we get some light in here?”

…

The night seemed to come faster that day.  Stan snored loudly from the couch, already exhausted from the little bit of housework he forced Ford to participate in, as Ford stared down at his brother’s sleeping form.  What had he been doing in their time apart?  Many new scars painted a relatively vivid picture of possibilities for the mutant to worry over… The imagined scenarios going through his head did not do much to him, though.  After all, it was hard imagining something worse than what he had been going through during the past months. 

Still, though…  His brother looked so happy to have a safe place to stay- even if he did spend fifteen minutes complaining about the lack of food in the house.  Stan seemed hard set on shopping for food in the morning, even against Ford’s warnings about the woods outside.  How could his brother not believe him about the terrible creatures waiting for him outside?  He looks like a demon for goodness’ sake!  Should that not be proof enough?  But, even after many protests, he refused to listen to Ford’s cautionary words.  Perhaps he could dissuade him in the morning…

Stanford yawned, leaving his brother in search of… something.  He felt so uneasy.  It felt nice having Stan nearby earlier in the day- it really did!  He felt warm and maybe even a little bit… happy?  But now he just felt- How would he explain it?  The man continued down the hallway as he thought.  He felt hungrier now, but it was not like the constant aching he had experienced ever since his physical change.  That hunger was akin to the starvation he felt before...  The wendigo’s corpse had been completely devoured some time ago, and with no marrow left in the bones and the fear of being attacked if he left too great, he was once again left without anything to eat. 

But this feeling deep in his gut… it was not the same.  It felt driven and anxious, not passive and scared.  The feeling building inside of him made him want to do _something,_ but what?

Ford reached the elevator to his lab, pressing the button before stepping inside.  He leaned against the back wall and felt the stuttering vibrations as he descended downward.  Well, it had been a long and exciting day- and for the first time in months it was a _nice_ excitement instead of the fear of death!  Perhaps the feeling was left over adrenaline?  It sounded like as good of a reason as any at this point.

The man stepped out of the lift, tracing his fingers over the dusty control panels as he passed by.  He had not even told Stan about his issues with Bill yet.  His twin could only sit still and listen to stories for so long, after all.  Not to mention that learning his brother was not only turning into a demon, but was also being haunted by one, would have been too much for one day.  He would have to tell him sooner than later, though; there was no telling what terrors Bill could invade Stan’s dreams with!  And there was always the possibility that Bill would poses his brother in his sleep.

Poor Stanley… he would be defenseless to the dream demon if he _did_ show up to torment him.  The uneasy feeling in his gut once again bubbled to the surface.  It was still so strange!  The feeling made him jittery- almost as if the sword of Damocles was hanging over his head.  Ford sat on the cool floor, taking up the sleeping position that he had so gotten used to over the past weeks.  After all, his bed became fairly useless when his grotesque horns tore the mattress to shreds!  He had gotten used to getting little sleep by this point… adjusting to sleeping upright was relatively comfortable when compared to cowering awake in fear. 

Stanford released a shallow sigh.  Things would turn out fine- he was most likely just worrying himself too much.  He would figure out how to handle things with Stan- how to handle being _near Stan_ in the morning.  It seemed like he had calmed down over their years apart and, at this point, he found holding a grudge over losing his dream school… menial.  He should not have held it so strongly back when he was eighteen, either.  Though… that did bring an old thought to the front of him mind. 

Would things have turned out differently if he had gotten into West Coast Tech… or would he have still ended up in Bill’s lap?  And furthermore, if he had not made such a fuss about Stan ruining his project, would he and his brother have been able to stick together?  Even if his twin was a messy galoot, Stanley meant well and was always there to talk and help him… 

It would be a blessing if he could go back to those easy days back in high school.  Back to living in that tiny apartment above the pawn shop, back to that tiny bedroom that they shared from birth.  He felt safe there- he could always talk to the person he trusted the most when he was being bullied or after being rejected, or even when he needed someone to help him sort out the strange feelings he was forming for specific players on the football team.  He could still remember the smell of that tiny room so vividly; the various scent of cars and rain from their open bedroom window, the smoke from the cigarettes their parents so often smoked, the scent of Stanley… 

It was strange to think of it, but… he smelled different somehow.  But, then again, a lot about his twin was different now.  He was bigger- mostly around the stomach- and much less toned, though he didn’t doubt for a second that Stan could murder someone with his bare hands.  Still, though, the thought of his brother just laying up there in the living room, helpless as he slept…  It made the burning grow greater.  There was so much meat and fat on his form.  Memories from earlier that day, much like a clip from a film, began repeating through his head.  Seeing the way his muscles moved as he lifted things, seeing the round flesh on his stomach show from beneath his shirt when he removed his over coat…

Wait wait WAIT.  What the hell was he thinking?  These were definitely NOT thoughts to have.  Ever.  But… he did not feel the same as when thinking about someone he found attractive.  This was…Stanford wiped a bid of drool that began to slip from the corner of his mouth away with his sleeve. 

This feeling was hunger.

Stanford frowned.  That is…  No, he was tired and hungry, nothing at all to worry about.  Stop thinking about it just STOP thinking.  It was an intrusive thought- everybody got those!  His was hunger because… well probably because of the changes to his body!  Nothing to be worried about. If he repeated that enough, it would have to become true.  The mutant buried his face into his arms and knees, closing his eyes tightly enough for it to hurt.  He just needed to sleep.  In the morning he would have completely forgotten about these strange thoughts.  Ford closed his tired eyes, allowing himself to drift off.

It was cold-no no, it was…warm?  Stanford moved his hand within the milky darkness around him, but could not really distinguish a difference between his hand and the air.  Curious.  He looked around his surroundings, but found nothingness.  Everywhere he looked was just a distant, yet unreasonably close mire of soupy blackness.  He felt strangely at peace- a comfort that he had not felt for quite some time.  Was this a dream?  It would have to be, but the content made no sense.  Where was the fire? Where was the death?  Where was Bill?  It had been so long since he was last able to sleep without the demon’s intrusions…  He felt like he was floating.

A smell wafted gently through the thick air, immediately calling his attention to a wispy cloud nearby.  Oh?  Stanford stepped closer to the cloud, enjoying the scent as he grew nearer.  It was heavenly, but he couldn’t quite pin it down.  So familiar, so calming- so delectable! It was close to the smell of cooking food… but he could not tell what kind.  Stanford placed his fingers on the cloud, observing curiously as it scintillated through warm hues.  It was surprisingly tangible!  He pulled it in close, feeling the warm softness on his face.  It felt nice-comforting even!  Squishing it between his fingers was stimulating in all the most pleasant ways.  He wondered, though…  What would happen if he kept squishing it?  Stanford gripped the shape tightly between his fingers.  It began to squeeze out in the spaces between his elongated fingers, letting out a high pitched hiss as his fingers penetrated further.  He smiled.  Ford licked his lips and regained his grip on the cloud and crushed it further. 

The hissing suddenly, and momentarily, morphed into a pained squeak before exploding with a loud “POP!”.  The man awoke with a start, the visions of his dream still dancing in the corner of his eyes.  He sat up and looked around; the same dark lab greeted him, only now the sound of running water came from the pipes above him.  Stanley must be using his shower… which would mean that morning had already come.  He sighed and stood.  Another day, another random body pain.  The man reached out for support from the nearby lab counter, but suddenly recoiled as he saw his hand- or rather, as he saw the blood coating it. 

What the devil?!  He quickly checked his body for wounds; his clothes were splattered in red, but there were no cuts, bites, or gashed on his form.  Stanford breathed a sigh of short-lived relief.  It only took a moment of searching his lab to find the actual source of the carnage: the mauled carcass of what appeared to have been a rabbit lay nearby, leaving a staining pool of red underneath.  What had happened in his sleep?  Surely another wendigo hadn’t gotten into his lab… if that was the case, why had it not gone for him?

Stanford gulped at the thought of each possibility, quickly gagging on something caught in his throat.  He coughed and spat small chunks of hair into his hand.  The man’s blood ran cold as he reached into his mouth the retrieve the last of the rabbit pelt caught in his throat.  He gawked at it in horror for a moment.  Had he… really done this?  When had he left the lab? How was he not attacked when he was outside? Why… why did this disgusting hunk of flesh look so appetizing?  _What if the rabbit was not the only thing he ate that night?_   Questions continued to rush through his head as he made his way through the dark lab, the slight glow from his eyes creating small reflections on the machinery around him.  This was bad, but not as terrible as it could have turned out. However, this could not happen again.

 

First, he needed to get himself cleaned up; Stan would ask questions if he saw the blood, and questions were the last thing Stanford needed more of.

**Author's Note:**

> This is mainly something I've been writing in my spare time for the Billford tumblr/skype group. I really like how it's turning out, though, and it's quickly consuming my goddamn life. 
> 
> Please let me know if you find any typos or incomplete sentences!


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